


Reliqua

by skysedge



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Miqo'te Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Pining, Post-Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:40:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22592659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skysedge/pseuds/skysedge
Summary: G'raha Tia, who is only just getting used to the sound of his name again, is in trouble.
Relationships: G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 6
Kudos: 37
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	Reliqua

**Author's Note:**

  * For [macabreromansu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/macabreromansu/gifts).



> Hello macabreromansu! Here's a little chocolate box fic about everyone's favourite crystal boy. I've created a WoL OC for this but because I wasn't sure what your preferences are I've left his descriptions vague. 
> 
> This was inspired by the canon references to the exarch regularly working himself to exhaustion (the dumbass).

G'raha Tia, who is only just getting used to the sound of his name again,  is in trouble.

He’s in an infirmary bed ,  having been  tucked in forcefully by the  medics , and has just woken up. The reason he’s here isn’t the reason he’s in trouble.  He’s in trouble because he  has a visitor who is less than pleased to find him here.

The visitor is sat on a chair beside the bed, arms folded over his chest, and his expression is stern. He’s been sat there in silence for nearly ten minutes. He hasn’t asked a single question but his expression demands answers. All of them. Immediately. If it was anyone else,  G'raha would be able to talk his way out or this. He’s done so with  Urianger more than once, and although the experience had been  horrifying he has even managed to deflect  Alisaie .  Lyna _ never  _ gives him trouble. He thinks of her wistfully until his visitor gives a pointed cough and drags him back to his present predicament.

Confined to a bed, under strict orders, and pinned in place by the sheer presence of the Warrior of Light, the Warrior of Darkness, the legend in the flesh, the keeper of  all  G'raha's hopes and dreams. He had been in the Source last  G'raha had heard. But J'rhun is here , now, and is staring so fiercely that  G'raha is worried that he’ll catch fire. That’s if his nervous sweat doesn’t put it out. 

“ I can explain,”  G'raha murmurs,  twisting the bed sheets between his hands and not daring to raise his eyes from them. Gods, he misses  wearing his cowl up. “ You see, I-“

“No.”

The interruption is so shocking, so uncharacteristic, that it stops him in his tracks.  He’s surprised enough to meet  J'ruhn's eyes and, finding himself being stared at, immediately looks  _ anywhere else. _ __ This is bad. Incredibly bad. The worst.  G'raha can feel his cheeks turning red and distracts himself by wondering if the crystal creeping across  the side of his face  is turning red as well. If it  is,  J'ruhn isn’t saying anything. Instead, he leans forwards with a subtle tilt of his head that  G'raha knows means business.

“You  passed out ,”  J'ruhn states.

“In a manner of-"

“From exhaustion.”

“I was  just-"

“ _ Again _ .”

Oh, hells. A few answers come to mind. The first is that he’s fine, a bit of exhaustion won’t kill him . The second is that his research into sending the Scions back to the Source is much more important than his own health.  Both of these answers are likely to get him into even more trouble. It’s hard to believe it, even now, but  J'ruhn seems to care about his health. He’s too kind. Too selfless.  G'raha really can’t bring himself to start an argument he knows he’ll lose.

He closes his eyes and sighs deeply, lowering his head in shame. 

“I asked them not to tell you about that ,” he says quietly. 

“They didn’t have to ,”  J'ruhn answers and  G'raha is relieved to see him smiling from the corner of his eye. “I _ know _ you. You always overwork yourself.”

“I know,” he admits softly, raising his nervous gaze to the ceiling. “But it's my responsibility.  I did this. And t here’s so much that needs to be done.”

“And lots of us to do it,”  J'ruhn insists. “ For at least the few hours we can force you to sleep.”

This is the most that the warrior of light has spoken in a long time. Despite his awkwardness,  G'raha can’t help but turn to look at him with a sheepish but fond smile.  J'ruhn is leaning forwards, elbows propped on his knees, and an easy-going smile on his lips. It’s been a while since he’s looked so relaxed.  G'raha remembers him looking like this when they first met, can recall the way he had strolled around  Mor Dhona as if he owned it, as if the world was just one curious adventure, nothing to be afraid of. As always, his attitude is infectious. It makes G’raha feel braver.

“I’m sorry,” he relents. “I’m always making the people here worry. I shouldn’t be troubling you, too.”

“ You’re no trouble.”

Ahh , his face really  _ is  _ going to turn red at this rate.  As  J'ruhn gives him a smile,  G'raha reflexively withdraws, pulling the sheets higher up over his chest.

“I’m foolish,” he admits. “And I’m not as young as I once was.”

“You’re as stubborn as you ever were.”

G'raha laughs aloud at that and is happy to hear  J'ruhn laugh too.

“Feels like a lifetime ago ,” the warrior says warmly.

“It  _ was  _ a lifetime ago ,”  G'raha murmurs. “For me.”

They lapse into silence and  G'raha can’t help but feel responsible. Things had been easier, somehow, when he was just the Crystal Exarch, when he could disown his memories and feelings. It’s far more difficult to express himself now that he can’t hide. But...he owes  J'ruhn more than melancholy statements and unfinished thoughts. He owes him everything. He takes a moment to gather himself, inhales slowly, and then clears his throat.

“You’re more talkative today than usual,” he ventures . “Did something happen in the Source, my friend?”

J'ruhn gives him a look. It’s one he recognised. It’s reserved for when he’s too formal, or nervous, or impersonal. It’s the look he gets whenever he suggests sacrificing anything for their cause. For a moment,  G'raha is worried that something  _ has  _ happened but then  J'ruhn seems to forgive him and shakes his head. 

“No,” he says. “But I was coerced into helping some merchants crossing  Silvertear and the walk back to the portal to come here was...nostalgic.”

It has been so long since  G'raha has seen the rugged landscape of  Mor Dhona with his own two eyes. He tries to imagine it and finds his chest tight. It was never his home to begin with so it’s ludicrous that he feels homesick. He was there for barely any time at all. But it had been a good time, the  _ best  _ time, a simple time before everything had gone wrong.

“We can reminisce,” he says nervously. “If that’s what you’d like?”

J'ruhn looks like he’s tempted but all too soon he’s shaking his head and retreating to lean back on his chair.

“Not now,” he says. “You need to rest.”

“I’m fine,”  G’raha insists. “Perfectly well enough to  _ talk. _ ”

_ If it’s with you,  _ his thoughts continue treacherously.  _ Anytime, about anything, for however long you like, for however long you’ll have me. _

The curtain around his bed is drawn back so suddenly that  G’raha gasps and immediately begins choking.  J’ruhn reaches out to rub his back in soothing circles and  G’raha feels so embarrassed, so  _ guilty _ for his stray thoughts that the coughs just keep coming. By the time he’s able to breathe properly again, the medic has drawn the curtain again and left a steaming mug of herbal medicine in  J’ruhn’s hands. He holds it out wordlessly, his eyes warm but his smile concerned.  G’raha takes it with his eyes lowered.

“Thank you,” he says. “And maybe you’re right. I suppose I can rest a little.”

“For the rest of the day.”

“For an hour.”

“Until night falls.”

It’s a low blow, the reminder of what he’s brought back to this world, and it works. G’raha sighs and nods.

“All right.”

He begins to take a sip of the concoction and swiftly chokes on his first mouthful as  J’rhun squeezes his calf through the bedsheets.

“Thanks,” he says, leaning closer as  G’raha splutters. “Are you all right? Is that stuff vile or what?”

“F-fine!” he protests. “It’s fine. Good, actually. Rejuvenating.”

“Can I try it?”

“Of... of course.”

G’raha hands the mug back. It’s only as  J’ruhn is raising it to his lips that he realises he’s made a mistake. He’s sure that, once upon a time, when he was young and foolish, he would have called this as  _ indirect kiss.  _ The memory surfaces with unfortunate clarity and he actually reaches back to pull the cowl of his cloak up and over his head. He’s too weak for this, and it has nothing to do with exhaustion. He’s always been too weak when it comes to this man. 

“That,”  J’ruhn says, and  G’raha can just about see him holding the mug back out. “Is disgusting. You  _ like  _ this?”

This kind, brave, strong,  _ oblivious  _ man. 

“Yes,” he says softly. “I like it a lot.”

He takes the mug back and brings it inside his hood, barely tasting it at all. It’s easier not being able to see.  J’ruhn is merciful and doesn’t ask about it. Instead he laughs and lets go of G’raha’s calf.

“You’ve always had  strange tastes,” he says.

It’s true. A long time ago,  G’raha supposes he was something of an eccentric. Now he’s an oddity, in a uniquely peculiar situation. And he’s been okay with that for so long, happy enough to be playing his part in helping his idol achieve. But now he’s here, close enough for  G’raha to hear him breathe, the shape of his lips left in the condensation gathering on the side of the mug. It’s far easier to work himself to exhaustion than to try and understand how the ever dwindling chasm between them makes him feel.

“I suppose I have,” he agrees. By raising the mug to his  lips he can hide the way his smile has faded. “Some things don’t change, not even in a lifetime.”

“I hope so.”

It’s an instant, firm response. Hope, huh? It’s something he doesn’t deserve. And  J’rhun doesn’t deserve being burdened with the tangled mess of it all. 

“Now drink up,”  J’rhun says, getting to his feet. “And I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I will,”  G’raha says. “And you will. Ahah...”

J’ruhn laughs with what  G’raha would think was fondness if he was even more foolish than he knows himself to be.

“Take care, G’raha.”

He doesn’t ask  J’ruhn to stay. But the warmth of hearing his name spoken aloud keeps him comfortably in bed until he falls asleep again.

G’raha Tia is in trouble. It’s the sort of trouble he wouldn’t mind lasting.


End file.
